Jacob
by XiaShadow
Summary: Callen hates that name. And when a solo-mission goes awry, the truth comes out and G has to figure out what's important: his friends or a promise from long ago.
1. Chapter 1

"Why am I going undercover as a Jacob?" G Callen questioned his petite OSP Operations Manager, Hetty Lange. "You know that's the one name I never use, Hetty."

"Be that as it may, you have yet to provide me with any actual reason for your aversion to the name, Mr. Callen. So you will go undercover as Jacob Tanner. Is that understood?" Hetty peered at him through her thick glasses, and Callen sighed but nodded an affirmative.

"You're going undercover? For what, I didn't know we had a case?" A new voice came from behind them, and they turned their heads to look at Kensi Blye, who was setting her bag down on her desk.

"The team itself does not have a case, Ms. Blye. Agent Callen, on the other hand, does." Hetty told her, turning back to face Callen, "Now, get going before the trail goes cold."

G made a noise of agreement, and quickly left the bullpen, leaving a confused Kensi to stare after him and a guarded Hetty to go back to her own office. Callen took out his phone as he walked, skimming through his contact list (most of which were fake numbers, just to de-rail any potential threats who got a hold of the phone) when he bumped into Sam Hanna, muttering an apology before continuing on, not looking up.

"Hey, G! Where are you going?" His partner questioned, jogging to catch up to G's fast pace.

Callen glanced up, opening the door and pausing to answer, "Some gang is housing a terrorist. It won't be hard," before he was outside and getting into his replacement car (his other one was destroyed, and he had yet to buy another one, so he made due with the one Hetty had acquired for him).

Sam watched his friend drive out of the lot quickly, pushing aside his natural worry for G whenever he got too focused on a case and blocked out everything else. Instead, he shrugged before walking into the bullpen and plopping into his chair, dodging the crumpled up piece of paper that Kensi threw at him good-naturedly.

Hetty set her phone in front of her on her desk, for some reason more concerned about her agent in this particular case than usual. Making up her mind, she dialed a number and waited for Eric Beal, who was stationed in the Eagle's Nest skimming through his Facebook. He obediently picked up the ringing device, leaning back in his chair.

"Eric."

"Mr. Beal, turn on Callen's GPS tracker in his phone and please watch it. He is going solo on a mission, and I'd rather not have a repeat of the last terrorist-bust."

Eric frowned, but brought up the tracker and opened another screen to watch through the camera on Callen's phone. When he did, he pulled back and made a face. _Awkward crotch shot._

"Got it."

"Very good, Mr. Beal. I will be up shortly to monitor the feed. Until I am, please keep a vigilant eye on our agent."

"Will do, Hetty."

The phone fell silent on the other end, and Eric shrugged before placing it back in its cradle. Hetty never said goodbye, anyway.

But he did have to wonder why this case seemed to put the short woman on edge.

**.~.~.~.**

**No, I'm not dead. **** I apologize for not updating My Own Enemy, but things are quite hectic here. As those who watch the news may know, five US soldiers were killed because of a bomb that went off next to their convoy in Afghanistan.**

**One of those, Keenan Cooper, was a close friend of mine. **

**I'm still reeling from this, and it may be awhile until another update. But I will try; when I'm not with the family, I tend to enjoy losing myself to writing. So I shouldn't be gone for too long.**

**Prayers and kind words for the family are appreciated. **

**But on a lighter note: it really bugs me how short this chapter is, and how my mother's laptop (the one I wrote this on) keeps trying to change 'Callen' to 'Cullen'. I mean, come on, Word! G's way better than any sparkly vampire. No offense to any Twi-fans, haha.**


	2. Chapter 2

Callen shrugged his shoulders as he got out of the car, getting himself into character. He had parked the vehicle a few blocks away, as most of the gang members only had classic Mustangs. And as much as he wanted one, it was out of his budget.

So instead, he had waltzed down the streets like he owned them. People scattered from his way respectfully, and Callen was glad that he had been in the area before. It gave him an edge, since most people already know that he was dangerous (not his name, though, which was good) and stayed out of his way.

He walked up the dirty steps into a rundown ruin of a house, and was met by a large man who was basically the bouncer of the joint.

"Get out."

Except he didn't take bribes.

Callen crossed his arms, using his piercing stare as a natural advantage to try and get the bigger man to back down, and spoke with a cockier voice than he felt. "Tell Esteban that Jacob Tanner is back in town."

Esteban was one of the ringleaders of the local gang, who called themselves the 'Runners'. To G, it seemed like the exact kind of name _not_ to name a gang that was prone to violence. 'Shankers' or 'stabbers' would fit much better.

The big man narrowed his eyes at the order, but after a few moments he nodded and disappeared up the stairs. This was his chance. According to the intelligence he had acquired, the terrorist known as Dawson was hidden away in the basement (so cliché!) and Esteban stationed his 'office' on the top floor.

With a disgusted eye roll, Callen walked to the stair opening. _When did gangs get this predictable? Or is this one just that bad? _Descending the banged up stairs, he made sure to keep his footsteps quiet. He reached the bottom of the staircase with no trouble, but lightly touched his pocket where he knew his phone was, just in case he had to make a quick 'SOS' call.

"What are you doin' down here?" a gruff voice barked at him, and he swung his head to look at the tattooed man who had just turned the corner.

"Esteban told me to give a message to Dawson," Callen responded, the lie rolling off his tongue with ease.

The man scowled, sizing G up before giving a curt nod and continuing down the hallway. G breathed a sigh of relief, walking the opposite way. Now was the hard part: finding out what room Dawson was in, and getting the terrorist out of the gang's territory and into NCIS hands.

"Hold on a second!" a voice bellowed from behind him, and he turned around with an easy grin, deciding to go with a cool and carefree attitude. The voice belonged to the same tattooed man from before, and two other guys were with him. One of them had a crowbar resting in his hands, and the other had the body of a quarterback. Not good.

"Esteban only told three of us the bomber's name. Me, himself, and his bro. Guess who _isn't_ one of them three?" The tattooed man boasted, and Callen mentally winced. Big burly guys were bad, but the ones who probably failed kindergarten were even worse.

The tattooed man elbowed the quarterback guy, who nodded and cracked his knuckles in a cliché 'gonna kick your ass' move. G took a step back, both hands raised slightly. His Glock was tucked in the waist line of his pants, but he wanted to try and get this done cleanly.

"Whoa, whoa! I'm sure this is all just a big misunderstanding, guys. Let's just talk to Esteban, no need to start throwing punches!"

Crap. That came out much more whimpy than he had been aiming for. _It was the stupid name_, he berated himself, _it's messing up your game when you have to keep saying it._

"How about we talk with Esteban and _your_ dead body?" The tattooed man threatened, stepping forward to stand next to the quarterback. The one with the crowbar copied his move. G tensed, knowing that his ruse hadn't worked. He should get out of the place while he had the chance.

But if he left, Dawson would know that the feds were onto him and he's leave town. Maybe even the state, or smuggle himself into another country. So Callen resolved to stay, determined to get Dawson into custody. Allowing his gaze to flicker around the room, he leaned his feinted to the left before taking off to the stairs. They were bigger than he was, so he would have a better chance of taking them out on the narrow stairwell.

He made it up the fifth step before he felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him backwards with a harsh yank. _Damn. Guess these guys _are_ called the Runners for a reason. Wicked fast gang boys do not equal a healthy me, _Callen thought wryly to himself before he landed roughly on the hard ground.

His air left him in a loud but controlled gasp, and G had a moment to try and suck back in some before a kick landed on his ribs, to which he automatically curled up. And thus the beating began.

He heard the clang of the man's crowbar falling to the ground, which was the only warning he had before another foot began the assault on his body. They were mostly aimed for his chest, and G was surprised that he hadn't felt a rib crack yet. Bruises were going to be plentiful, though.

A heavily tattooed arm grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him up to deliver a hard punch to his face, and Callen knew that he was going to have a black eye for awhile. But he was off the ground, now, and he punched the man back, feeling a harsh triumph at the crack of the man's nose.

Trying to fight your way out when you're curled up on the floor being attacked on all sides was hard. But now that he was standing (albeit wobbly), he had a chance.

The tattooed man recovered from the punch, and with a yell charged G, who dodged to the side before inflicting a solid punch to the back of the man's neck, effectively knocking him out.

The quarterback was coming up on his left, and the one who used to have the crowbar was standing next to him. G angled his body to best defend himself, but was cut off a loud shout.

"Hey! What are you thugs doing?"

The voice was familiar, and Callen wracked his brain for where he heard it before. It was right on the tip of his tongue, but when he tried to place it with a name or face it vanished.

"This guy ain't one of us! He's probably a cop. He was tryin' to find you." The quarterback replied. The tattooed man let out a low groan as he slowly woke up, and the crowbar guy had picked up his crowbar.

"Well, let me see him. I'll figure out how to handle him."

The two awake gang members nodded, and lifted up the tattooed man to drag him away.

"Turn around, then, Mr. Cop." The voice ordered and-having no other option- G turned obediently. What he saw made his jaw drop ever so slightly, and his eyes to widen incredously.

"…Jacob? _You're_ Dawson?"

The man in front of him had changed since they had last seen each other. His hair was a shaggy blond (and G couldn't help but compare it to a slightly-shorter version of Deeks'), but his gray eyes were a sharp as ever. There was a long scar on his cheek that wasn't there before, as well as a haunted look that consumed his features. But when the man smiled, the person G knew came forward again.

"Callen! What are you doin' here?"

G wanted to answer, to laugh as they had done many years ago, but stopped himself.

"You didn't answer my question, Jacob."

Jacob sighed, running a tanned hand through his hair. "Stubborn as always, I see. But if you must know, than yes, I am Dawson. I really didn't think it would be that hard to figure out. It is my last name, you know." He paused, seeming to think over what he was going to say, "Now answer my question. Why are you here? I haven't seen or heard heads or tails of you since that last bust. Some higher-ups came to me the next day, said some bullshit about you quitting FBI."

"I did quit."

"Sure you did, Callen." The sarcasm was thick, as it always had been in their banter.

"Okay, fine. Maybe I quit seconds after they tried to fire me."

"I thought so. Why don't we catch up in here?" Jacob motioned to a door, and G hesitated, not sure if it was an okay thing to do. Finally, he nodded and followed his old partner into the room. Perhaps he could find some information that hadn't been found before.

**.~.~.~.**

**NCIS: LA EAGLE NEST**

Eric frowned, punching buttons on his keyboard. Hetty waited impatiently for him to fix the static coming from the feed from Callen's phone. His GPS tracker was working, but for some reason as soon as G had entered the basement, some sort of signal had interrupted.

_You had better get back here in one piece, Agent._

**.~.~.~.**

**I have to thank all of you for your kind words. **** The next update may take even longer than this one, I'm sorry, for the funeral and services are coming up and I'm trying to help get everything in order.**

**Thank you for reading. :P**


	3. Chapter 3

The room they stepped into was filled with crates and other junk, but had a couch and a single chair that faced each other. Jacob motioned to the couch, and G sat down hesitantly. He was beginning to regret agreeing to go into an empty room with Jacob. Whatever their past was, Jacob was a terrorist now and should not be trusted. And yet, Callen couldn't bring himself to leave.

Jacob sat down on the metal folding chair with a sigh, dragging a dirty hand down his face. Callen leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and placing his fingers together in a steeple shape. Jacob's gray eyes met G's curious blue ones, and that seemed to break his resolve to stay silent.

"… Why are you here?"

"To take you down, apparently. When the hell did you become a terrorist, Jake?" _You were a good man, once upon a time._

Jacob sighed again, looking down for a moment before he brought his gaze back up, his eyes burning with a sudden intensity. "Not voluntarily, I can assure you that. Remember Jessica?"

"Mastel?"

"Yeah, her. Well, we hooked up. Had a little boy, he's six now. Cute as can be."

Callen, although a part of him was interested to hear what his partner had been up to, interrupted. "Jake, get to the point. I don't have all day. If I wait too long without checking in, they'll turn on my camera on my phone to see what's up."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," Jacob chucked, "Esteban got some nerd to set this basement up with a jamming signal. Nothing is getting in, or out."

G frowned, the agent in him tensing in preparation of a trap. Jacob continued, unaware of Callen's gaze flitting around the room, checking for possible weapons.

"Jessica died in a car crash a year ago, so it's just been me and Mikey. I quit the FBI shortly after you did, so we were mostly living off of Jessica's salary. After her death, I took any job I could. Eventually, I took the wrong job and got blamed for when the money went missing…" he trailed off, his eyes wet with tears. When he spoke again, his voice caught a few times. "They took him, Cal. They kidnapped Mikey. Said if I didn't do exactly as I told them, they'd kill him."

Callen's eyes widened slightly, and his expression shifted from cautious to concerned. "Shit, Jake. Why didn't you call the cops?"

Jacob let out a humorless chuckle. "I didn't exactly do anything legal, Cal. I'd get arrested, and Mikey would get sent into the System. After what little you told me, I- I couldn't let that happen. They told me, 'Just put this backpack in the subway train heading south at 4'. I did. But I swear to God, I didn't know that there was a bomb in it! And then, after that, they kept telling me to do other missions like that. I told them no, once, and they brought me to the room they kept Mikey and made me watch as they chopped off his fucking finger!"

G froze, his mind conjuring up an image of a mini-version of Jacob, missing a finger and crying like the child he was. Just that thought made his stomach curl, and a burst of anger to fly through his body. And Jacob, being the father… he could only imagine how much that must have scarred the man.

"Why didn't you call _me_?" His voice was quiet, and the words came out without his consent.

Jacob frowned, obviously confused. "I tried. But you got a new phone, I guess." His stormy eyes looked down at the ground again, and Callen let out a quiet gasp as he realized that he could have kept all this from happening, if only he was less paranoid and hadn't chucked his phone the next day after he "quit" the FBI.

"… do you have any idea where Mikey is?"

The shaggy-haired man gave him a quizzical look, but answered. "Sort of. I've managed to get the building, but it has seven levels, and I don't know which one he is in, much less which room. So storming the castle won't work; they'd see us miles away. And probably shoot Mikey, too."

The two men sat in silence for many minutes, trying to think of a plan of action. Finally, Jacob stood up with a resigned sigh.

"You probably need to get back now- how about we meet again? Thursday, at the Golden Circle Club? It should be busy enough so we won't be overheard."

"Sounds like a plan." Callen agreed, standing up as well. They stood facing each other awkwardly for a moment before G headed to the door.

"Callen."

He turned the knob, opening the door slightly, and looked back.

"About the- the Cyprus mission… I-"

"I know. It doesn't matter anymore."

Jacob let out a relieved sigh, a small smile on his face. "Thanks, Cal. And, hey: look on the bright side!"

Callen raised an eyebrow at the remark, and Jacob rushed to continue, "With all those bruises and cuts, you can just say that you were found out and had to skedattle before you got killed."

G snorted. "Oh, yay." He mumbled sarcastically, exiting the room and closing the door behind him. He paused at the bottom of the staircase, the feeling of guilt building before he shoved it down. He had to lie; to his team about Dawson and to Jacob about the mission.

Being left on the street with multiple stab wounds while your partner ran on ahead, not even noticing when you fell, wasn't something that he could just forgive and forget.

But they had promised each other after that mission, a little before he quit, that they wouldn't let each other down again. And even if he was a liar, Callen had yet to not uphold a promise.

**.~.~.~.**

**NCIS LA EAGLE NEST**

"We got feed again."

Hetty looked back at the screen, which showed nothing but blackness, which meant that his phone was still in his pocket. "Good. Is there any audio incoming that we cannot make out?"

"Nope, no one is speaking. GPS says that he left the building and is heading back here now."

"Very well, Mr. Beal. Keep track of him; I'll be downstairs."

"Will do."


	4. Chapter 4

Callen walked into the NCIS LA headquarters, shifting his torso to the side in a position that eased some of the pain radiating from his cracked ribs. For a moment, his face showed his conflicted emotions. The sense of his impending betrayal to his teammates was a rock in his stomach, but the determination of helping Jacob kept him from giving up and telling his friends everything.

"Mr. Callen?"

G blinked, coming back to reality and settling his features so only his sense of failure showed as impatience. _Every lie must have a kernel of truth in its very center. _The voice, a memory of a person of long ago, rang in his head. He frowned, shoving his memories into the farthest corner of his mind and focused on Hetty. Now was not the time for more ghosts to surface.

"Sorry, Hetty. My cover was blown; I couldn't reach Dawson." The lie came so easily, and he felt an unexpected stab of guilt.

Hetty gave him a long look, and for a split second he was worried that she knew he was lying. But then she nodded and walked away into her office, telling Callen over her shoulder, "First Aid kit is somewhere on Mr. Hanna's desk."

He nodded (a stupid answer, since she wasn't facing him) and entered the bullpen. Sam and Kensi were sitting at their respective desks, but looked up when he entered. Sam gave a low whistle at his black eye.

"Quite the shiner you have there, G."

It was teasing, but Callen knew Sam well enough to recognize the underlying concern, which was only proved true when Sam threw him the small red First Aid kit. He caught it, glad that Sam had good aim and he didn't have to reach for it (which he knew would have pulled on his ribs).

"Yeah; the mission didn't go well… someone realized that I wasn't who I said I was. Not sure how, exactly, but I had to get out of there before I found Dawson."

Sam nodded, and G distracted himself from the guilt by opening the kit and cleaning out a fairly deep cut on his shin. _What the hell? Why is this lie so much harder than others to tell?_

**.~.~.~.**

**I'm so sorry, everyone! :( **

**I just got caught up in a lot of stuff. Lame excuse, and I'm terribly sorry. I'm going to try and update all of my stories today, and hopefully the updates will be a smidge bit longer. **

**Thanks for still reading, and waiting (kinda) patiently. Love you all!**


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